Jock's Turn
by HolyGrail-SangReal
Summary: Trent isn't a normal kid, but he's done a good job of hiding it until now... Now a giant alien robot disguised as a car has kidnapped him and demanded he take him to Sam Witwicky. What will our beloved jerk do? Cursing, yaoi, major OOC, small abuse.
1. Chapter 1

Ok, here's a sucky fanfiction for you all. I don't own transformers and I'm sorry if the chapter is too short. Here you go.

* * *

Trent was... not normal.

Normal people don't see colours.

Normal people don't see things before they happen.

And most importantly, normal people don't get crazy feelings that make them do stupid things.

Like now, for instance.

Trent was currently located in a used car lot a couple minutes away from his school, standing in front of a crappy, majorly junked up Volkswagen Type 183, more commonly known as an Iltis. Which, according to the thrice damned gut feeling, needed to be bought. By him.

After at least four attempts to leave, all of which resulted in failure, he resigned himself to the fact that he probably was not going to leave this crappy little car lot without the crappy little car.

Dammit.

"Well, ya look like ye'r thinkin' about somethin' over here, man! What's ye'r name?"

He turned to the annoyingly cheerful car salesman.

"...Trent."

"Well, Trent, my man! The name's Bobby Bolivia- like the country, just without the runs, haha!- and I am honoured, just honoured that you chose my humble little car lot for your driving needs. Now, I have a car over here-"

"How much is the Iltis?"

Trent leaned against the hood of the military vehicle, raising an eyebrow at the practically mangled car.

The salesman looked confused.

"Now where the hell...? Oi! Manny! What the hell's this doin' here?"

A mexican man dressed in mechanic's clothing stuck his head out of a window and yelled something rather rude sounding in spanish, to which the car salesman simply replied, "Five thousand."

No way was he going to pay five grand for a junked up piece of shit.

"Two thousand."

The tubby man placed a hand over his heart, staggering around as if in pain.

"You wound me, Trent, man! Stealing, you're stealing from me- no less than four thousand."

"Two fifty, and if it gets any higher than that, I'm walking away. This car is shit-" the car rolled backwards, just far enough for Trent's hand to slide of the hood and send him tumbling to the floor, "-And apparently, the brakes suck too."

Thinking on what had happened last time he tried to deny a customer, the sleazy man quickly agreed, and Trent found himself the owner of a not so brand new antiquated military vehicle.

He accepted the keys from the other man and hopped into the driver's seat, inserting the keys into the ignition.

"Ok, Clusterfuck, let's see if you work.."

He turned the key and... nothing. Not even a turn over. He tried again, and a third time, but came up with the same results.

Trent groaned and face planted on the steering wheel.

"Lookit here, Clusterfuck, we go two options. Either you get working for me, all nice and pretty, or I'll be forced to shove a tow cable up your ass. Easy way or the hard way?"

He turned the key a fourth time, and this time the engine roared to life with no stops or stutters.

Unfortunately, so did the radio.

"_They call me girl, They call me Stacey. They call me her, They call me Jane. That's not my name. That's not my name. That's not my name. That's not my name!"_

"Good Clusterfuck-"

If anything, the radio got louder. Trent was starting to think that he'd gotten... in a little over his head, what with buying a seemingly possessed car and all... Did he mention the car, now turned on, had colours? Inanimate objects, in his experience, did not have colours. Ever.

"Fine. You're name's not Clusterfuck, I get it. Why I'm not more freaked out about my car objecting to it's name I don't understand."

And then, Trent attempted to drive. Keyword being 'attempted'.

As soon as he moved to shift the gears, the stick _jumped out of his hand and shifted by itself._

Trent was starting to regret listening to his gut feeling...

* * *

I always thought that somewhere, deep down inside, Trent wasn't a jerk. Now, I realize that it's probably somewhere really the deep fuckin' down inside, but all he needs is a little something to... jar it loose, and Mr. Clusterfuck is the perfect tool to do it. Reviews would be appreciated, seeing as if I don't get any I'm going to assume that no one wants to read this.


	2. Chapter 2

Kup was not a happy mech.

First off, he was blasted off course by a fraggin' decepticon. A DECEPTICON! They were the worst shots in fraggin' history!

Second, he was stranded on this stupid little mudball of a planet, filled with small, incredibly squishy natives.

Third, he was damaged, and therefore stuck in fraggin' secondary mode till he could get to a slagging medic.

Forth? THERE WAS A FRAGGIN' SQUISHY INSIDE OF HIM!

There was no way in all the horrid, torment filled levels of the pit that he was going to let the squishy little thing drive him. Or call him Clusterfuck.

So, he'd done what any normal mech would have done. He showed the silly little squishy_ exactly_ who was in control.

And it was _definitely_ him.

* * *

Trent was understandably freaked out.

After all, it's not every day that your car just up and _drives itself_.

"I think I'm in shock," he said, gazing blankly out of suddenly dark tinted windows.

"As well ye should be! Attempting to drive an Autobot... Ye must have some loose wires up in that squishy little processor of yers t' think ye could actually get away with it."

"And now I'm hallucinating. My car is talking to me _and_ driving itself."

"Aren't ye listnin'? I am not some flimsy little human car- I'm an _Autobot_!"

Trent stared blankly at the speakers producing the grumpy old voice, shaking his head uncomprehendingly.

"...You do realize I have no idea what that is, right?"

"Autobot. Au-To-Bot. I'm an autonomous robotic organism from a planet called Cybertron. I received a transmission from my commander, a big bot named Optimus Prime. Said he and some midget fleshling had taken out Megatron and that the war was over-"

"Woah, woah- Wait one minute! A planet called Cybertron? You've got to be kidding me- you're a car from space?"

Trent was sure it was the hysteria making him laugh like crazy, because he really couldn't find anything funny about alien cars from distant planets kidnapping him. At all.

"Not a car, you silly organic! I'm a mech- but right now I'm too injured to transform. That's were ye come in. I need ye to help me find someone called Samuel Witwickey."

Trent now knew what people were talking about when they said that karma had a tendency to sink it's teeth in one ass...

"Oh, hell no. Right now, you're gonna drive yourself up to my house, all good and proper, I'm going to feed my cat, fix dinner for my dad, and go get some sleep. If, in the morning, it turns out that you weren't a hallucination caused by severe sleep deprivation, I will take you to him then. Maybe. Any questions?"

"...What's a cat?"

* * *

Trent stepped out of the Iltis, shaking his head at the pure insanity of it all. Come on, a talking car? He was starting to regret reading Stephen King novels, that was for sure.

He walked into his house, threw his backpack on a small couch in the living room, and pulled out a cutting board and some vegetables from the fridge. He was feeling to lazy to make anything other that stir-fry tonight, and his Dad could flippin' deal with it.

After his mom had... left, Trent had the entire housework-load shoved onto his shoulders. Cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry, the dishes... You name it, he had to do it. His dad, the stupid idiot, just sat around and pickled himself with all the damn beer he drank.

Sounds fun, right?

So, what with the chores, schoolwork, and football, he was kinda glad Mikaela had gone after the Witwickey kid, god rest his soul. She was really nice looking, but insanely high maintenance, which was something he really couldn't deal with right now.

He dumped the chopped veggies into a hissing pan and poured in random asian flavoured sauces he pulled out of the fridge, also grabbing a tin of tuna.

"Oi, Sakebi! Dinner's ready!"

He opened the can and plopped it on the counter, right before an insanely large cat hopped up, miauing loudly.

"Oh, stop whining, it's right there, Screamer. You're precious tuna awaits."

Sakebi was his cat. Cat... well, cat may be an understatement. Sakebi was a Serval-Caracal hybrid, though he was technically tame.

_Technically._

He was a compromise of sorts. Trent wanted a cat. His dad thought cat's were girly, and wanted Trent to get a dog. Trent's mom, before she'd up and left, held the opinion that, "If you have money, why not use it?" She, after all, only wanted the _very best_ for her _baby_. Therefore, Trent got a wildcat. Yep. And not just any wildcat, either. A rare white Serval-Caracal hybrid, standing almost two feet tall at the shoulder, with one blue eye. Extraordinary in every sense of the word.

"Trent! Trent, where have you been?"

He sighed, scratching the monster cat behind the ears.

"I bought a car, dad, just like you told me too. Jerret totaled my truck, remember?"

It was true. His immature lackey had gotten royally smashed, stole the keys to his beloved truck, and went on a crazy joy ride that ended up with his baby in pieces.

"Donnn' talk back to me, boy! I paaayed for th' damn thing! I want my dinner!"

"Yes, dad."

Trent obediently scooped up a generous portion of stir fry and handed it to his father, not even blinking at the backhand to the face he got for his service. Sakebi snarled, tail twitching back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum of pure rage.

"Screamer, down," he muttered, picking up the dishes from dinner. He wasn't hungry anymore. All he wanted to do was crash.

Flopping into bed, Trent sighed, pulling the covers up over his head. Hopefully tomorrow would be better...

* * *

Pity the Trent, because his dad is an abusive jerkass. Sakebi is awesome and he is mine. Unfourtunatly, he isn't real, dammit.


	3. Chapter 3

I apologize for not posting this up sooner! Instead of wasting your time with tedious author's notes, I leave you to your chapter.

* * *

The first thing Trent did the next morning was stick his head out the window hesitatingly.

Nothing.

The Iltis was in the exact same place he'd parked it last night. It hadn't moved an inch, not that he'd expected it to. It had to have been a crazy dream, right?

"Well, Sakebi, I guess the crazy talking whatchamacallit was a dream after all," Trent announced, petting his cat on the head.

Well, he'd been positive it was a dream until he got into the driver's seat.

"God, I know you organics need to recharge more often, but seriously? I'm rustin' my tailpipes off, here!"

"Oh dear god, it wasn't a dream, was it," he said, dazedly.

"Of course not! Now, come on, I need to get to a medic. Stayin' so long in car form is makin' mah joints start to ache."

Trent just shook his head. Out of all the alien cars to choose from, he gets a grumpy old geezer? How can cars be old, anyways? This whole situation really didn't make sense...

The car rocked back and forth impatiently.

"Now!"

"Excuse me?"

"Now, ya little squishy!"

"If you ask nicely, I might just consider it, you piece of junk."

The engine revved, almost like a snarl, before the same grumpy old voice echoed through the speakers.

"Will you move your aft, _please_."

"What the hell. C'mon Christine, put it in gear."

Trent steered the alien car in the right direction, down streets and alleyways, attempting to avoid most of the traffic. An Iltis would stand out pretty far, seeing as it was an antiquated military vehicle...

"Can you turn into anything else? You're gonna stand out a hell of a lot if we have to go out on any major roads."

"Yeah yeah, whatever."

A bright green light shot out, surfing over a car parked in some random driveway, and Trent regretted asking as the whole entire car started to shift around him.

"Oh, hell no."

The car that the alien had chosen? A 1958 Plymouth Fury. He was gonna die...

They pulled out onto a relatively deserted roadway, Trent directing the car from his nightmares towards the Witwickey residence.

"Just what do you want with Sam, anyways," he asked suspiciously, hands clenching the steering wheel.

"Don't you know anything? He's the Autobot-Human liaison. I go to him, he can tell me where the nearest Autobot outpost is, how many of us are on earth, how many Decepticons have made landfall, who's actually here, and the current state of the war- or, what's left of the war anyways- "

"Sam is an alien ambassador?"

"You could put it that way."

"Well, good, cause we're here."

The car pulled into the driveway, popped open a door, and flipped the seat to the side, tossing him out of the car.

"Go fetch, bitlet."

"How about you ask more politely, Christine?"

The car revved it's engine, screeching forward.

"I get it, I get it!"

Trent scrambled up to the door, knocking loudly.

"Oh god, please be home-"

"T-Trent?"

"Ah, Sam, it's so nice to see you, quite a lovely day outside, isn't it?"

At any other time, the flabbergasted expression on Sam's face would have been hilarious. Now, however? Yeah, too freaked out by psycho Christine car.

"T-trent? What in the pit are you doing here?"

"Well, you see..."

He stopped. Now that he thought about it, there was really no way of saying this without making him sound insane...

"Recently, my schizophrenic powers made me purchase a car that claims to be an autonomous robotic organism from a distant planet called Cybertron who happens to be looking for you because apparently, you are an alien ambassador."

"...Oh. Is that all?"

"Did I mention that this seemingly sentient car changed into a freaking 1958 Plymouth Fury? Oh, and Christine says it needs a medic."

There was pure silence. Pure, horribly awkward silence before Witwickey casually waltzed over to the Plymouth and announced, just as casually, "Who is your leader?"

The surly car shifted on it's tires irritably, snarling through it's speakers.

"Who the hell do you think? Are you a messy pile of organic material yet?"

"Well, congratulations, Trent," Sam said, turning towards him, "You've successfully discovered top-secret military information _and_ a new Autobot soldier. You'll have to come with me to fill out some paperwork, though."

Trent shook his head.

"Uh-uh, no way am I going to some crazy military base with talking cars and shit, not where they'll do experiments on me! No way, man!"

Sam held up his hands, shifting from foot to foot almost nervously.

"Sorry, Trent, but you really don't have a choice. Besides, Major Lennox won't let anybody experiment on you! He might let Ironhide step on you if you're a jerk, though."

"You think I'm stupid? As soon as they ask me why I bought the damn Christine car, they'll either have me locked up in a loony bin or strapped to a lab table! I know what they do to people li-Wait, step on me? How tall is this Ironhide? What the hell kinda name is Ironhide, anyways?"

"Oh, didn't I mention? These talking cars? Yeah, they turn into giant, talking alien robots."

"...I'm insane. I mean, I already knew I was insane, the floating colours and shit was a really big clue, but now, I'm positive. I am completely, one hundred percent-"

"Sane," Sam chimed in, "This is all real. You're not dreaming, you're not hallucinating. You remember what happened in Mission City, right?"

Trent looked at him, confused.

"You mean the huge gas explosions a couple of months ago?"

Sam laughed.

"More like the huge government cover up. There was a battle between the good guys- the Autobots- and the bad guys, who are the Decepticons."

"Ok, then."

"Seriously, though," Sam continued, face losing the humour, "If you don't come with me, they'll come after you and drag you in by force, and then I can't protect you. No one can."

Trent whimpered pathetically.

As soon as he had discovered the damn powers, his worst fear had become someone finding out about them and experimenting. He couldn't even count how many times he'd woken up screaming after watching the contents of his brain be spilled out onto the cold steel of an autopsy table...

He shook his head.

"Why're you acting like a sissy anyways? Though you'd be braver, football junkie."

"I- weird things happen to me, ok? Bad weird things. I don't want anybody to find out about these weird things, because if they do, other bad things will happen, got it? If I go to some top secret military base in the middle of nowhere and people start asking questions, well, I'm sure their lab has soundproof walls."

"Trent, you're not making any sense!"

"I know!" he cried, shaking his head back and forth, "Nothing makes sense, dammit!"

"Look, if you come with me willingly, they'll let me ask all the questions. No experimentation, ok?"

"Why should I trust you? You and I don't exactly have the best track record, you know."

"Oh please," Sam snorted, "A little teasing isn't enough for me to hand you over for experimentation. Now, what is your answer?"

"...Can I pick up some stuff first?"

* * *

There you go. I know Trent is way OOC, but if you'd been hiding freaky powers most your life you'd be afraid to get experimented on, too.


	4. Chapter 4

I apologize for posting so late. Please don't murder me.

Thanks to all the awesome people who reviewed! And favorited, and added me on their fav author list! You're all so nice... ^/^

* * *

They pulled into Trent's driveway not twenty minutes later, Sam in the shiny Camaro concept that had been introduced as Bumblebee, and Trent in a car now known as Kup.

To Trent, the car was still freakin' Christine.

"Just- wait here. I'll be back out- wait, am I even allowed to bring animals with me?"

"Animals?" Sam asked, confused.

"I have a cat and I really don't want to leave him here."

"Sure, I guess, I mean, they let me bring Mojo sometimes. You just have to keep a careful watch to make sure someone doesn't accidentally step on him."

Trent nodded his thanks and skulked his way into the house.

"Boy! Where th' hell've you been! Nothin's been done 'round here!"

Trent, already irritated, in shock, and a whole other set of confusing emotions, snapped.

"Then do it yourself, you drunken waste of space! I'm being carted to some top secret military base while you sit around and pickle yourself!"

Not the smartest thing to say...

There was a sharp crack as his father's fist met his face, and again, and again. He skittered backwards out of the rain of blows, darting up the stairs and grabbing a duffel bag. He shoved some clothes in, along with a couple of pictures and a leash and harness for Sakebi.

Lifting that and his flute case, he edged his way out of the room cautiously, not expecting to run into his dad, who, judging from the expression on his face, was not happy.

"You little runt!"

Trent was shoved harshly, tripping over the rug on the landing and falling down the stairs with a loud yelp. Almost instantaneously, Sakebi was standing in front of him, snarling and yowling that godawful screech of his. Trent grabbed his stuff and scrambled away, calling Sakebi after him.

He darted out the door and threw his stuff into the Plymouth, jumping into the driver's seat, Sakebi close behind.

"Oi, Christine! You better get moving, like, now!"

His dad staggered out of the house, yelling obscenities as he went. Both cars pealed out of the driveway and out of the residential district, sliding into a highway.

"Uh, Trent?"

Sam's voice was tinny, coming in through the car's speakers.

"...Are you talking through the car?"

"Bee's got a microphone, and apparently, so does Kup. We can talk to each other and so can they. What was that all about?"

Even through the tinny speakers, Trent could hear the concern in the other's voice.

"Nothin'. How far away is this secret military base, anyways?"

"...About an hour away. You might as well go to sleep, you kinda looked like you needed it."

"Whatever, Witwickety," Trent grumbled, curling himself into a ball on the Plymouth's seat, head resting against the window.

Not that he'd ever admit it, but... he was kind of... tired...

Nearly an hour later, Trent was startled out of a restful nap by Sam's tinny voice.

"Uh, Trent? If you're asleep and not just really, really quiet, you should probably wake up now."

"M' awake," he grumbled, lazily waving a hand in the general direction of the voice. He sat up slowly, groaning as he cracked, well, everything. Neck, shoulders, back, fingers, he'd crack out his legs when he could actually stretch them...

Christine, AKA Kup, made a disgusted noise, the faint color covering the interior of the car turning an odd grayish green.

"Must you do such... icky organic things?"

"Stuff it, Christine. At least I don't horribly mutilate people for fun."

"You- You little bratling! I'll have you know that I have never harmed an organic. Yet."

"Uhm, guys? We're here."

Christine pulled to a stop in front of a large, blocky-looking grey building, threw open the door, and tilted the passenger seat, dumping Trent onto the ground.

"Stupid bucket of bolts."

Kup's engine sputtered, a cloud of exhaust fumes puffing straight into Trent's face.

"Whatev, Christine."

Trent staggered to his feet, gazing up at the building with uncertainty in his eyes.

"Ratchet, Ironhide, and Will are on their way here."

Trent nodded absentmindedly, turning to the plymouth fury and gathering his stuff, clicking for Sakebi.

The cat hopped out of the backseat and twined around his legs, miauing questioningly.

"No. Stay with me."

The cat miaued again, irritated this time.

"No, Sakebi. Stay."

The door to Sam's car opened, and the aforementioned boy patted the dashboard before stepping out.

"Miau?"

Trent smirked, recognizing the tone.

"Go ahead, you crazy cat."

Trent watched as his larger than normal, definitely smarter than normal cat hunkered down, slinking around the ground before leaping onto the smaller boy.

"What the hell?"

"Sakebi, meet Sam. Sam, this is my cat, Sakebi."

"This thing is a cat?"

"Yep."

"While this is all well and good," the grumpy Plymouth spoke up, "when is Ratchet going to get here? My wires are starting to rust!"

A little girl's voice, coming from nowhere, announced, "Theeey're heeere..."

Trent shuddered.

What was it with these crazy robots and horror movies?

But the quote from the Poltergeist was right. An ambulance and a large black Topkick pulled up into a stop in front of them, the Topkick's door opening to reveal a tall man, late twenties, dressed in military fatigues.

"God, Sam, when they told you to take a break, they meant more than two days!" The other man laughed, slapping Sam on the back hard enough to make him stagger.

"Yes well, there was another undetected landfall. Kup here's pretty badly damaged, so..."

"Another one?" The yellow ambulance snarled, startling Trent bad enough to make him jump.

And then, the insane happened. With an odd, unearthly mechanical sound, _all three cars started to transform._

That's it. He was insane. First the colours, then the dreams, next, talking cars, and finally, _talking cars from another planet that transformed into giant alien robots._

His knees gave out, sending him to the ground. God, that thing, the ambulance... it would be so easy to just... step on him. He didn't do puny, dammit!

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

"...You seem to have forgotten to inform me that your buddies are TALKING CARS that TRANSFORM into _GIANT ALIEN ROBOTS!_"

"I could have sworn I mentioned that..."

* * *

Yep, next chapter coming soon, hopefully.

And yes, Trent plays the flute. That's important in later chapters (I think)

Enjoy.


	5. Chapter 5

Hi! I felt guilty for making you wait so long, so I'm uploading this chapter early! This is also a birthday present, for you, for my birthday! Hope you enjoy!

Oh, and Fox Familiar, I'm sorry, but I can't seem to reply to your reviews. I would like to thank you for the grammatical advise and I would also like to ask where you read the fact that there would be gay porn in this story? I don't remember saying that or writing that down, and I would like to inform you that, while there may- and I mean_ may-_ be _some_ shonen ai in later chapters, there is by _no means_ going to be porn unless someone else would like to write some. I seem to be unable to write un-cheesy and un-cliched porn, unfortunatly.

Here is the next chapter!

* * *

Trent shook his head, barely a step away from a full blown panic attack. This was just too crazy!

"So, who's your tag-along, Sam?"

The tall guy from earlier waltzed over, seeming completely oblivious to the fact that the cars had just _TRANSFORMED._

"He's, uhm-"

"Trent. My name is Trent, and I am insane. It's nice to meet you. What are you in the looney bin for?"

Obviously, this was a crazy house. Cars don't transform. They don't.

The other guy laughed loudly, as if he thought Trent was joking.

"Well, Trent, it's nice to meet someone with a sense of humour around here! The name's Captain Will Lennox, but you can just call me Will. Oh, and by the way, you're not crazy."

"Of course I am," Trent stated, "I'm almost one hundred percent positive that I am schizophrenic. After all, Schizophrenia is usually characterized by auditory hallucinations- such as a _car talking_, and paranoid or bizarre delusions- such as _cars_ transforming into _giant alien robots_."

Sam stepped forward, hands raised placatingly. Trent resisted the urge to punch him.

"Dude, Trent, I swear you're not crazy. I thought the same thing when 'Bee here transformed in front of me, but I probably didn't have as much time to think on it as you have."

Trent turned to stare at Sam incredulously.

"As much time? As soon as I arrived at your house, you were all like, 'Oh, yeah, have to get in the TALKING CAR and go to a secret government agency where they're gonna cut me open and experiment one me!'"

"About three seconds after 'Bee transformed, he was caught in a battle with an evil giant alien robot, I was taken to meet with four other giant alien robots, I was caught up in the middle of a giant alien robot war, and I killed the leader of the evil giant alien robots. Happy now?"

"Duuuude."

Will waltzed over, waving a hand in front of Trent's face.

No response.

"Sam, man, I think you broke him. Seriously."

"I'm not broken!"

Trent swatted the older man's hand away from his face, shaking his head hard.

"Ok. Ok, I think I'm good now. No more panicking. All under control. I'm just gonna grab my stuff and then you can take me to the top secret government base where you're totally _not _going to experiment on me. Ok."

"Trent, how many times do I have to tell you," Sam sighed, exasperated, "that Will and the others aren't going to experiment on you?"

"We leave the experimenting to the Sector guys. Hopefully you won't run into one of them," Will piped up, voice cheery.

Trent shivered.

"Not helping, Will," Sam hissed, elbowing him in the gut.

"Sorry, sorry. Just hop back into your car and follow us. You'll be at the base in a few minutes."

"You mean this isn't the base?"

"Nope."

* * *

Well, Will had been right... It only took a few minutes to circle around the back of the building to another, larger building. Now there was one little problem...

"What do you mean, you brought another person here! This is a breach of confidentiality! I knew a teenager would never be able to handle a big secret like this!"

A weird looking balding man, probably around his late forties, was reaming out the military guy.

Loudly.

"We should have carted that brat off to Antarctica as soon as this happened- or better yet, just handed him over to those Sector Seven guys! Then we wouldn't have to worry about _any_ security breaches!"

Trent glanced back and forth between the weird guy, the weirder military guy, and the even weirder teenager next to him.

Why was his life so insane?

"Uh, dude, nobody told me anything. I bought a car at a crappy used car lot and it started _driving itself_. Nobody_ had_ to tell me anything."

"You stay out of this! You're glad I'm not shipping you off to Sector Seven! God knows they probably need a new test subject!"

At the words 'test subject', Trent froze.

Oh, hell no.

It took all of three seconds to race back around the side of the building, and for once, Trent was glad he'd let his father bully him into playing football. He managed to make it almost to the front gate before he was tackled to the ground by some random military guy.

"Get the hell off of me! You are _not_ going to send me to Sector Whatever! I'm not gonna be a damn test subject!_ Get off_!"

Obviously, the other guy didn't get off. In fact, he went the extra mile and sat on him. _Sat on him_!

"Nice tackle, Epps! Never knew you played football!"

Military guy #1 jogged out from behind the false building, waving at the guy _sitting. On. Him_.

"I didn't! I've just had so much practice with the new recruits that I'm turning into a pro, man!"

They both broke out laughing.

"While this is all well and good, military Thing 1 and military Thing 2, can you _get your ass off me_?"

"I don't know," the guy sitting on him said, tapping his chin in thought, "If I get off of you now, it's very likely that you'll try to brutally murder me, and I really am to pretty to die..."

"You? To pretty to die? C'mon, Epps, we know the real reason we were able to off that robot was 'cause it looked you in the face and died. No need to be ashamed. And get off the kid, I think you're squishing him."

Military Thing 2 got off of Trent's back, playfully punching Thing 1 in the shoulder.

Trent, of course, attempted to take advantage of the distraction and darted away, making it another thirty odd yards before being tackled again.

"_Get off of me_!" he shrieked, struggling, "I'm not gonna be a test subject! I'm not gonna let you tie me to a table and cut me into pieces! _Get off!_"

He was nearly hysterical now, hyperventilating in pure terror- it's like all his nightmares were going to _come true_-

And a 1958 Plymouth Fury screeched into their general area and transformed with that distinctive metallic whine, all rusted plating and scratchy red paint job, brushing the military Things off him and plucking him up into the air, holding him protectively.

"Calm down, will ye, boy?" a gruff voice ordered, rather gently, and Trent couldn't hep but listen, and he was breathing normally again, but he was tired- no, exhausted, and he wouldn't be able to fight off the military Things again-

"Yer panickin' again. Stoppit. Ah ain't gonna let anythin' happen t' ye, got it?"

Trent nodded, curling up in a ball in the robot's hand, head hurting from the sheer weirdness of today. It was all just too much...

"An' you two!" The Plymouth glared down at the military Things, snarling in that gravelly voice, "Ya better not hurt 'im, or I'll step on ye, ye hear?"

They both nodded, eyes wide.

"We weren't going to hurt him-"

"He just can't leave."

"Don't wanna be a test subject," Trent muttered, uncurling enough to glare down at the military things,"...gonna cut me open and splay all my organs out on an autopsy table..."

"Ah ain't gonna let anythin' happen t' ye. Jeez, kid, ye're a paranoid one, aren't ye?"

"I'm not paranoid! I just... ok, I'm paranoid."

The rusty mech laughed, walking back in the direction he'd come.

Which, of course, made Trent freak out.

"Oh no! You put me down right now, you hunk of tin! I am_ not_ going in the direction of the psycho guy and his scientist lackeys! Put me down!"

"Ye think they can reach all th' way up here? Las' time I checked, they weren't that tall."

"... Stop punching holes in my logic."

"Kid, you have no logic. I'd be punchin' holes through thin air."

* * *

Another mediocre chapter for my non-existent fans! Yay!

Oh, and Will is thing one and Epps is thing two.

Just in case you didn't get that.

Yeah.


	6. Chapter 6

New chapter for you all, please don't kill me. I'm sorry for the late update. School is- just- GAH! Not fun. O~O Forgives?

* * *

"Kup, dammit, just because you can transform doesn't mean you can just up an leave! All I did was clean out the space crap around your transformation cog! Git your aft back over here!"

"...The humans may not be able to reach me, but I'm not sure I wanna take my chances with that guy, either."

Kup (still Christine) snickered, muffling it with a hand.

"Kid, no one in their right mind would want to 'take their chances' with Ratchet the Hatchet, even on a _good_ day."

"Ratchet... the Hatchet?"

Trent gulped, wondering if fighting off the military Things was more desirable than meeting 'Ratchet the Hatchet.'

"He's a medic, but don' let that fool ye. He's a _Wartime_ Medic- whole 'nother class, there. Fraggers are scary as hell, and he's th' best of 'em all."

"Oh joy. And we're walking _towards_ him?"

"It's easier that way. If ye don' listen t' 'im, he _will_ hunt ye down. And Primus save ye if he catches ye."

They rounded a corner and came face to face with a really, really angry looking robot- though how a robot could look angry was a mystery to Trent- and said robot was wielding a wrench.

Judging from the odd lime-green-neon-yellowy paint colour, Trent was guessing this was the ambulance from earlier.

"Bitlet, this is Ratchet. Ratchet, this is Trent, who Ah'm currently usin' as a shield. Don' slag meh."

"You never mentioned I was gonna be a damn _shield_!" Trent choked out, looking at the ambulance bot with wide eyes.

"I have nothing to do with this! It's all Christine's fault!" Trent cried, pointing at the Plymouth and duck and covering at the same time.

"I wasn't planning on slagging anybody in the first place, but I do believe that you could use one of Prime's 'Sentient Beings' lectures. And Christine? The hell, Kup? Decide to change into a femme while you were away?"

"I don't know!"

Kup threw one of his hands up in exasperation, careful to keep the other steady. It wouldn't do for the little squishy to go flying, now would it?

"Ah don' have th' slightest clue, Ratch! Th' little thing jus' keeps callin' meh that! Ah think there's somethin' broken in that squishy processor o' his!"

"Christine. You know, psycho demon car in the Stephen King book by the same name? Seriously. Look at your car mode, man. Look at it."

There was a pause as Ratchet connected to the internet and googled the odd terms. He broke out laughing five seconds later.

Kup, unfourtunately, was unable to access the internet. Planetfall isn't fun.

"Smart, kid. So, Christine, how did you meet up with a human, anyway?"

"Oh, don' ye dare, ye slaggin' younglin'. An' don' change th' subject, either. Why th' hell is everybot callin meh Christine?"

"Oh, stuff it. You'll figure it out when I fix your wifi, but I need you at the base, _sitting still_, in order to do that, not _running_ _off_ to rescue a squishy in distress!"

"I was not in distress," Trent grumbled to himself, sitting cross-legged on the Plymouth's hand.

"Were too, bitlet," Kup answered back, grinning at the angry pout on the other's face.

"Stop arguing and get your aft back to base!"

Kup bent down and placed the teen on the ground before transforming into his alt mode, passenger door swinging open and engine revving impatiently.

"C'mon, bitlet, Ratch can only be pushed so far before snapping and throwing wrenches at your head."

Trent gulped and jumped in the car.

"Seeing as you're a giant alien robot, how big are these wrenches?"

"...Last time I saw him? Taller'n you, and those were the small ones."

Trent whimpered and clung to the seat.

"Is it too late for me to jump out? I mean, I can run pretty damn fast, and military thing one and two are both stuck in the car with seatbelts on, so I can probably make it about... fifty yards before they're out of their car?"

"C'mon, have some faith, bitlet. You seriously think Ratch's gonna hurt ye?"

"Well I don't know the giant alien robot with wrenches bigger than me, so I couldn't really tell you now, could I?"

Kup just snickered at the teen, pulling up in front of the semi-hidden, apparently real base of operations for the _giant alien robots._

_Holy shit._

He could still hardly believe it...

"Out, bitlet," the old Plymouth grumbled, rocking slightly on his tires.

Trent just shook his head, clinging to the seat. There was _no fuckin' way_ he was getting out of this car willingly.

"Bitlet," Kup growled warningly, "Out. Now."

"No way!" he gasped out, "I am _not_ getting out of the car!"

"You know, normally we have the opposite problem," Sam said, stepping out of the yellow Camaro and walking over to Kup, "After they find out that the cars transform, people don't want to get _in_ them. Looks like we won't have that problem with you, huh?"

"Shut up, Wickety," Trent mumbled, glaring when his cat leapt out of the back seat and curled around the other teen's leg, "Traitor."

"Meow."

"Whatever. No tuna for you, fatass."

"Rrowr!"

"Blah blah blah. Who freakin' cares what you have to say."

"Rrowr, mawr. Meowr."

"Oh, like hell!"

Trent jumped out of the car and started chasing the white monster of a cat, yelling threats the whole time.

"And you made fun of me, why?"

The possibly crazy teen didn't answer, just tackled his very mouthy pet to the floor.

"You take that back, you catwhore."

The cat yowled, smacking the jock in the face with a paw.

"Trent, are you... feeling ok? You're acting pretty weird..."

"And giant alien robots aren't weird! No, I'm not ok! I'm hysterical and I'm seeing things and there are cars that drive themselves and turn into giant robots from outer space walking around right in front of me and I think I'm just gonna go hide in a corner now bye!"

Trent jumped to his feet and dove back inside the Plymouth, hiding in the back seat.

Sam turned to see what had freaked the other teen out so much only to come face to face with Galloway.

"Shouldn't you be... not here?"

The man puffed up, glaring at the confused teenager.

"You," he growled, pushing his glasses up on his nose with one finger, "have no right to tell me where I should or shouldn't be. I'm taking this... teenager to the S7 base for questioning-"

"No, you're not," Sam interrupted, "He's staying right here. As Cybertronian ambassador, it is my job to make sure he understands just what he's fallen into, and that means debriefing him. This is not your jurisdiction, Galloway."

Trent peeked out from inside the Plymouth as the yellow Camaro, Bumblebee, played a sound byte of an audience applauding.

"C'mon, you wimp," he muttered to himself, "You spent your whole high school life beating up assholes like him- albeit unwillingly. Stop cowering and get up off your ass! You can do this!"

He clamoured out of the car and stood behind Sam, a large, intimidating presence.

"Look, just leave me alone," he snarled, "I didn't do anything! I bought a car. That car turned out to be a giant transforming robot from outer space. How the hell is that my fault?"

"I never said anything about this being anyone's fault," Galloway said, smirking, "but Sector 7 has to be occupied somehow."

Trent nearly started cowering again.

"I-I won't go with you," he stuttered, "I w-won't be some s-s-ort of experiment!"

"You will. Do you think we don't know, Trent De'Marco?"


	7. ALERT ALERT

Ok, guys. I am a terrible person. I am so freaking sorry, I don't even have words.

But, in all honesty, this story? It was terrible. I know now, after dealing with college-level writing assignments, that this really just sucked. So, I'm going to re-write it. It's gonna be a slow, spotty process, and I'm not gonna guarantee I'll ever truly finish, but I've got about 9 pages done so far- not much, but it's something.

For all of you who reviewed, thank you so much. I apologize to the people who favourited and reviewed this story, I've been a terrible writer and I hope you can put up with me in the future. Now, for a sample!

* * *

Another day, another 'gas leak' reported on the news.

Trent sighed and flipped off the TV, rolling his eyes as the hot reporter disappeared from the screen. Seriously, a gas leak? That was the best story the ambiguous 'they' could come up with? It was obvious to anyone with eyes that those holes from the explosion were clearly footprints. Though, he had to admit, he did have a bit of an unfair advantage when it came to noticing things... out of the ordinary.

The front door slammed open. Grimacing, he levered himself off the couch, trudging out to the front room to greet his father. Or, rather, to get his daily dose of derision and scorn. Today was the day that report cards had arrived, as well as the placements for next year's football team.

* * *

This is hopefully going to be a bit better than the original- still terrible, but not as bad. Thanks for putting up with me, and if you have any suggestions on how the story can be fixed, I'm all ears!


End file.
